


i've lost this feeling of home,

by bloodflood



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, i made a spotify playlist for this oh my god, so i've been working on this for a long time, something something about monster hunters and something else about horror and grief, the cost is deep trauma and and the friends she makes along the way, yang learns how to be a country girl again but at what cost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodflood/pseuds/bloodflood
Summary: She remembers her in white.Remembers the way her perfume smelled, how she used to line her eyes, the crimson of them. How they bled into the dark. How warm they were.She remembers her in white.There's something to be said about the monsters you keep.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	i've lost this feeling of home,

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely self indulgent

She knows before she’s told. 

Feels it before it hits her, something omnipresent. Gravity hot and heavy over her shoulders, a mention of vertigo whispers past her. The way the sky looks just before the end and — 

She knows before she’s told. 

She knows the reason for the phone to be ringing, clenches her teeth as she hears her father make his way towards the kitchen phone. The gasp that follows the “Hello?” The quiet sobs that sound the way bad news always does. 

Yang makes her way in a daze downstairs, fingers numb — follows instinctually the sounds of Tai crying, his hand white-knuckled against the chair, teeth clenched so hard she thinks that maybe his jaw will break. That maybe he’d feel better if something were broken. 

He hears her upon entry. Eyes red as blood, red as grief. 

“Yang—” 

In the very next sentence, Yang learns a new flavor of pain. 

… 

Ruby holds her tight against her chest, warmth soothing the ache in her eyes. Heartbeat echoing love in Yang’s ears. The aftershocks of hours of heavy crying still hiccup through her breath. Ruby hums as she brushes back Yang’s hair from her eyes. 

“I’m sorry about crying.” 

“Yang.” Incredulous is the tone but softens incredibly in the very next moment. “You don’t have to be sorry.” The silence that follows says more than Yang could ever deserve. _I love you. It’s going to be ok. It’s not your fault._

Guilt rings hot and heavy in her ears. 

It’s a few moments before Yang speaks again, the quiet broken by some leftover sniffles. “I know.” Then. “She was a bad mom.” 

“She was a bad mom.” Ruby nods, a kiss pressed to her head. “That doesn’t mean you loved her any less.” 

So, maybe that’s all that matters, anyway. Not the fact of loving someone, not the way, the _how_. But that you do. But that you do, despite it all.

That has to count for something, somewhere. 

Ruby holds her hand all the way to the airport, rubs circles into the back of her hand, hums along to guitar strings and low, swinging lyrics from the radio. She doesn’t ask about Raven. Doesn’t talk weather, doesn’t bother to point out the coastline beside them. She lets Yang sit, lets Yang simmer, lets Yang be still. 

Ruby parks in short-term parking, walks into the airport with Yang, checks her bags for her. Just outside of security, there’s a coffee bar that Ruby leads Yang to, sits her down with a hot tea, buys her a bag of chips to munch through. 

“I’ve never been to Redwater before.” Ruby sighs, shoulders tightening, sure that Yang wasn’t going to respond — expecting a rebuff — or that she didn’t want to hear her voice. She looks up apprehensively towards Yang’s face. Looks for anger, looks for pain. 

Finds emptiness instead, a scary calm in her voice. And it is far, far worse. 

“I don’t remember it well.” One of Yang’s shoulders shifts up, drops down hard. “Old. Small. Red dirt roads. Um, cows.” A second of pause. The dip of furrowed brows. She thinks of those red dirt roads, her scuffed knees. There’s a dog somewhere in the back of her memory — her sunburnt shoulders, the freckles of summer. “Not really the place I could have imagined Raven staying.” Her eyes flicker down to her phone, reads the time, and sighs in kind. “I need to go, Ruby.” 

Ruby nods, goes to stand, her hand finds Yang’s. “I love you.” 

“And you’ll come? For the funeral?” 

“I’ll be wherever you need me. Dad, too.” 

… 

Here are the real stages of grief: 

1\. The ache

2\. Feel your breath throb in your chest. Do you know that it’s all your fault? Hang yourself on your ribcage, baby. You’ve never been a good daughter.

3\. Think about your blood, your head between your knees. Dance on your toes drunk and loose and try to forget all that you are and all that you’ve become. Wake up in the morning with pain on your mouth and think about all that could have been.

4\. Wrap your eyes and sit and be still and don’t move. You deserve this kind of pain, don’t you? 

5\. The way tears rush to your eyes, your mouth bleeds and bleeds when you talk. (Baby, are you the trauma? Have you ever been anything else?) 

6\. The quiet.

… 

She remembers her in white. 

Remembers the way her perfume smelled, how she used to line her eyes, the crimson of them. How they bled into the dark. How warm they were. 

She remembers her in white. 

The way her hair fell against her shirt, her old boots tucked into dusty, blue jeans. Her belt buckle flashing gold as she hoists herself into a truck. Big and black. An old Ford, an F-150, she thinks. The tires alone came up to Yang’s chest as a little girl. 

Raven would take her mudding in white, would hold her tight against her chest at night, and sing lullabies until her voice went, would love her anyway. 

She remembers her in white. 

The gate the taxi passes through is black, reads _Branwen Acres._ A metal rooster cut-out keeps the lettering company. It’s a long, red-dirt driveway, dried and dead grass sit on either side of the road; cows graze. 

_Cows._ Yang thinks. _Look, there are cows here._

“Is this it, ma’am?” the taxi driver turns to look at her, parked next to a big, black truck. An F-150. His accent is heavy - almost alien to her. 

“Yes.” She whispers. Hands him a wadded clump of cash from her back pocket. “Thank you for driving all the way out here.” 

He nods at her as she exits. Doesn’t look back. 

The moment her feet touch the dirt of the driveway something small and fuzzy bounds up to her. Blue eyes, a black and grey coat. It sits at her feet, docked tail furiously flicking back and forth. A blue heeler, smiling up at her. 

“Oh.” Surprise muted. Somewhere, she thinks of another cattle dog she once knew. Thinks of how his grave is a few feet behind the house. Thinks of the day she buried him. Yang bends down, scratches under the collar, and finds the name tag. “Cowboy, huh?” 

He barks and licks at the palm of her hand flops onto his back and exposes his tummy. “You’re a pretty cute guy.” She laughs, scrubs at his stomach for a minute, and finishes with a pat on his chest. She thinks of Zwei, all the way in Patch. Whimpering at the door when she left. 

When she goes to stand, so does he, ears alert and at attention. His tongue flops out of this mouth with a puppy-dog smile on his face. 

“I see you met the resident bastard.” A shorter woman comes into view, a wash of blue-green eyes and copper hair. “Nora.” She extends her hand when she’s close enough. 

“Yang.” She takes her hand in kind, smiles nicely, tries to be warm, tries to be gentle. “Thanks for reaching out and giving me the address.” There’s nothing but an emptiness gnawing into her jaw, the curve of her shoulders. Is her mouth a smile or a grimace? 

Nora doesn’t smile back. Her eyes are dim, the bags under them dark and heavy. Her eyebrows furrow as her eyes wanders over Yang’s face. Their hands drop. Yang goes to smooth her hair back, unsure of how to politely ask Nora to stop staring at her like _that_. Like she’s wounded, like she’s bleeding red and hot all over the place. 

“Sorry.” Nora doesn’t have much in the way of an accent, but her voice is calming, slow and twangy anyway. “You look just like her.” Glancing up into her eyes, she adds a quick and quiet, “almost.” 

“Really?” The laugh that leaves Yang’s throat is cold and dry, it scrapes as it comes out. “I’ve heard that I look more like my dad, actually.” And well, this isn’t true. She may have Tai’s golden hair, his stance, his smile and teeth. But the rest of her is her mother. The curve of her jaw, the sharp lines of her eyebrows, the way her eyes will flicker red— 

“Hm.” Cowboy stands to shake out his fur and makes his way past Nora, rubs against her legs as he does. It seems to remind her. “Well, c’mon. I’ll show you the house.” 

A modern farmhouse sits tucked around the corner of the driveway, a guest house sleeps next to it. She looks at white paint and grey trim and the house itself seems to breathe as it takes her in, moans. It says _Welcome home. I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, andwaitingandwaitingandwaiting—_

A horse swing made of tires hangs from an old split oak tree next to the house and she remembers it from the youngest memories of her childhood. A bird-feeder Tai built spills from the branches. On her way to the porch, Yang’s fingers run over her name carved into the bark. The heart that surrounds it. 

Yang knows this house. Knows it like the way air fills her lungs, the way the ground feels under her feet, knows it the way she knows white shirts and red eyes and low timbres of lullabies. 

The air is hot and heavy on her shoulders. The house welcomes her in, an old friend — long lost, found at last. 

“She hadn’t done anything different with it.” Yang fingers the edge of the worn, wooden dining table, the rustic stars on the side. “The house, I mean.” 

“Oh no.” Nora shakes her head. “It’s been like this ever since I could remember. And I’ve been helping out on the ranch for a _long, long_ time.” 

On the dining table sits a thick manila envelope. Nora gestures to it. Bites her lip. Shifts in place before coming to grab the edge of the table. Her voice is small and lost when she speaks next. “Her will.” 

_Her will._ It bounces back in forth in Yang’s head. Blood fills her mouth, files itself into the crevices of her head. A blueprint for something worse, a blueprint for pain. 

“Right.” And it’s all Yang can do to make sure her voice doesn’t crack. It’s all she can do to make sure that her eyes are dry and her hands are steady when she reaches for it. “And, have you looked at it?” 

“Everything goes to you.” 

The envelope falls back onto the counter. “What.” 

Nora’s hands come into her field of vision, takes the envelope and the contents of its insides splays it out in front of her. “The house, the trucks, the animals, the guns, the ranch —” She pauses, her finger pointing to _Yang Xiao Long_ written in red ink. “Everything.” 

“The animals?” Yang’s voice rings hollow, doesn’t sound like herself. “The ranch?” 

Nora doesn’t say anything for a long time. She stands and stares and stares. Then, the strike of a match. The scent of gasoline. “She said she didn’t trust anyone else.” 

… 

Cowboy pushes his nose into her hand. She finds his head through a haze, through hours of saying _“I need a drink.”_ Then, through several drinks later. He licks at her palm. It feels like sandpaper. She barely feels it. 

“Raven used to not let dogs in the house.” 

“She got soft.” Nora’s eyes are old, tired, and blue, blue, blue. “We found this little guy on the side of the road during a bad rainstorm. He was so little then. Fit just fine in two of my hands.” She grabs one of his ears to rub. “We weren’t sure he was going to make it, but Raven tore ass to the nearest vet. Told us he was going to be ok.” There’s reverence in her voice, her gaze. “Now, he’s just a little bastard who goes and harasses the calves and colts. Goes to sleep in the hay bales around noon and we don’t really see him until supper.” She pinches one of his thighs, playfully bats at his nose when he goes to gnaw on her fingers. “Huh, chunky?” 

“She got soft.” Yang echoes. Tongue thick with the bourbon she found in a cupboard. That doesn’t sound like her, not the mother she knew. She can’t help but think. Think _too late._ Think _why didn’t I make you soft, why did it have to be a dying puppy? Why couldn’t it have been your daughter?_

“Mm.” Nora sighs, glances out into the dark of the window. “Lock the doors when I leave, girl. There are some things out there that you don’t want comin’ in.” 

“You’re not staying?” Yang slurs but doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t mean to open her mouth, doesn’t mean to reach out and take Nora’s hand. 

“Gotta get home. But I’ll be here early to help with the animals. You should probably get to bed, also.” 

Yang stumbles her way to standing. Shakes Nora’s hand through the pretense of sobriety. “Thank you for being here.” 

Nora’s hand grips tighter. “Promise that you won’t drink any more tonight, Yang. I’ll need your help tomorrow.” 

“Promise.” It’s something easy to make. Something she has control of. Her eyes flicker even as she stands. “I’ll just head to sleep as soon as you go.” 

She leaves, blows a kiss to Cowboy before putting her boots on and the front door clicks shut, locks behind her as she goes. He lets out a low whimper before turning around to find Yang, nudges against her leg, and walks towards the back of the house. To the bedrooms. 

Yang sleeps in her mother’s bed like she used to. 

Alone. 

… 




Yang burns and burns. Chest folds inwards, looks through pictures on the wall, goes through Raven’s closet, and rubs her finger against the gold of a belt buckle. The last text from her mother, time-stamped 3:37 AM, a few days ago, reads: _I am so proud of you_. Yang had left her on read. 

… 

ii. 

Yang finds coffee grounds in the cupboards, boils water, and sits at the table. Stares and stares at the coffee until the steam dies down, until it is ice cold, until the morning sun starts to lower into the afternoon haze. 

She gets up. Makes another cup. 

… 

iii. 

She drinks and drinks and drinks. Goes through what could only have been a very expensive, very old bottle of whiskey. Slams the wine cabinet wide open. Leaves the Bud light and the Tecate by itself in favor for some Jose Cuervo on top of the fridge. She spends the next day in a hangover she can’t manage. Thinks she’ll die from alcohol poisoning. Hopes she does. 

Cowboy will lick and whine at her face. 

When she manages to crawl out of bed, take a shower, she finds that the alcohol she didn’t manage to break into has been cleanly removed from the house. 

… 

The funeral is on a Saturday. 

Ruby holds her hand through it all, through the grief, through nausea. 

People she doesn’t know stand at the podium, talk in garbled sing-songs and her ears _ring,_ they’re talking in a language she doesn’t know. She never knew her mother to be the woman they’re talking about in the picture-slideshow above. Never knew the grace, never knew the kindness, never knew the warmth.

Uncle Qrow is someone Yang could recognize by feel alone. But he’s unmistakable with his slicked-back hair, slump to his shoulder, and the way he smells like a bar as he walks to the front and grips the podium like his life depends on it. Yang sees her in him. The stubborn set to his jaw, eyelashes dark and heavy. Eyes bleeding crimson. And well, it _hurts._

Yang wonders if he’s drunk now — doesn’t blame him. She would be, too, probably. 

He stands still and quiet for a long while. Twirls a rose in his hand. 

The image of an open casket behind him is haunting. 

Qrow stares at his sister. 

“Oh, Raven.” His voice breaks on the uplift. He smiles even as he’s crying. “I hope you’re at peace. Wherever you are.” 

Yang presses a hand to her mouth, bites hard down on the meat of her thumb. She tastes blood, blood, blood, and Ruby curls further into her side. Tai’s fingers run through her hair but knows that he’s crying, too. 

A long time ago, Qrow told her that the price of being loved is how you feel after it’s gone. 

She knows what he means now. 

… 

iv. 

Yang plants marigolds in the planters near the house. Raven’s birth flower. 

The colors of the trees are turning, the grass is grey and ugly and nothing will grow anymore. But Yang digs the holes with her hands, gathers as much dirt under her nails as the quick allows for, and plants them anyway. Orange fills her vision. 

A week later, the flowers will be dead and grey.

… 

Ruby and Tai stay for another day after. 

Both meet Nora in a bit of a surprise, and both absolutely fall in love with Cowboy at first glance. 

“Oh.” Tai chuckles, leaning down to scrub at a very dirty puppy-tummy. He’d spent the day rolling in the mud with the cows. “Zwei is going to be so mad when he smells you on my clothes.” 

Nora laughs loudly. It’s the brightest Yang had seen her since her arrival. “He knows a lot of tricks, too. Cowboy, show them how to play dead.” Her fingers show a mock pistol. 

Instantly, Cowboy flops down, tongue lolling out of his mouth. It’s a good act, except for an uncontrollable nub tail thumping furiously against the ground. 

“How long have you been working for Raven, Nora?” 

“Oh, gosh.” Nora chews through some of the chicken Tai found for dinner, after complaining about Yang’s obvious quick trip choices of nutrition. Hot pockets, frozen pretzels, three boxes of cereal. 

“About ten years now, probably.” 

Ruby’s eyes flicker to Yang who sits _very_ still at the end of the table. 

“She took me in when no-one else would.” Nora lifts one shoulder by way of explanation. 

“Excuse me.” Yang says, pushes away from the table and finds her way outside, lets the sting of the new fall bite her exposed skin. 

And she is so, so tired. 

…

v. 

She holds the phone against her face. Listens to the dial tone. Listens to the ringing, the message box picking up the call. 

_“It’ s Raven. I didn’t answer your call, sorry. Leave a message.”_

“Mom.” Yang whispers, croaks into the phone. Cheeks wet. “Happy birthday. ” Her hands shake and shake and shake, grip into her hair. “Mom.” She tries again. Voice garbled, thick. “I went and picked up your headstone today. I hope you like it.” 

“Mom. I miss you.” 

In the bedside table is an old Blackberry. The screen reads: _Baby girl - 17 missed calls._

… 

Ruby and Yang watch a movie into the very late hours of the night. Ruby preoccupies her boredom by braiding and unbraiding Yang’s hair. 

“And you’ll come home?” 

“As soon as I can.” 

Arms come to wrap around her neck, a forehead in-between her shoulder blades. “I know you’re not okay, so I won’t ask. But I want you to know that I’m here. That I always will be. And if you ever need me, I can be here in three hours by plane.” 

Yang’s mouth trembles, doesn’t talk for a long, long time. Then. “I know. Thank you. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The next morning, Yang hugs them both goodbye before they board the plane. 

Tai kisses the side of her head.

“Be kind to yourself.” 

She doesn’t respond. 

… 

vi. 

Nora and Cowboy show Yang around the ranch. 

“This is Honey Mustard.” Nora smiles under her breath, pets a golden horse on the nose. Cowboy stands on his hind legs to try to lick at Honey Mustard’s cheek after Nora steps away. Honey Mustard huffs at Cowboy but stands still otherwise. “We got this old girl from a rescue.” 

Yang approaches warily. It’s been a long, long time since she’s been around horses. 

“Just hold your hand out.”

Yang’s fingertips find the muscle of Honey’s cheeks. Imperceptibly, Honey seems to lean into the touch. It’s then that Yang notices the cloudiness of her eyes. 

“She’s blind?” 

Nora sighs. “Yep. They were gonna put her down but Raven offered to take her instead. And she’s been doing just fine since.” 

“Cowboy doesn’t mess with her, does he?” Asking, Yang turns her attention to a nasty, little dog rolling around in a mud puddle. The only thing visible is the blues of his eyes.

“Oh no. They’re besties. Come this way, I’ll show you the donkeys.” 

Yang tries to spend her free time with Nora, tries to be helpful. The work keeps her mind off things, keeps her distracted. She can laugh when Nora’s around, smile when Cowboy shows off his tricks for her, breathe when Ruby’s awake and calls and they watch movies together through FaceTime. 

It’s when she’s alone that everything is bad again. 

The darkness is a reminder that she can fill the sunlit hours with distractions and shiny, pretty things but the moment she’s alone all of those thoughts will be waiting for her in the night. 

_If I had been a better daughter. If I called more—_

_Did she think of me before she died?_

_Did she think of me at all?_

“Nora. How did she die?” 

A sigh. Tiredness against her bones. “She just… went into the woods one night. Didn’t come back out.” 

“Did she, um. Did she —”

“That’s enough, Yang.” 

… 

Yang finds herself in the woods. 

And it’s almost by accident. Cowboy whined and whimpered at her until she woke up, clock reading 3:30 AM. 

“What buddy?” She goes to move the heavy blankets off of her, brain foggy from being ripped out of sleep. “What’s wrong?” The cold air hits her bare legs and she’s quick to pull her discarded sweats back on. He leads her to the back door. 

“You couldn’t have held it?” Yang groans, pulling her arms closer around her, tries to stave off the late October air. She’s wide awake now. “I told you that you shouldn’t have had all that water before bed.” 

The moment Yang’s hand pushes the door open, he shoots out from behind her, baying into the darkness and straight into the thicket of woods right behind the house. 

Swearing under her breath, Yang tugs on a pair of boots she finds by the door and flings herself down the steps after the bastard. 

“Cowboy, you’re so grounded it’s not even fucking funny!” Hollering, Yang ducks under branches, slips against wet and mossy roots, scrapes her hand against the rough bark. “Cowboy! Come!” 

He doesn’t. 

And it’s such a surprise to her because he _always_ comes when he’s called. He’s never disobeyed before — she wasn’t sure he had the ability to _not_ listen. 

Still, she follows, ever deeper into the woods, into a darkness she doesn’t know, into a dark that whispers against the back of her neck. He’s much faster than her, obviously. This fact becomes more heartbreaking after she loses sight of him entirely. 

And then it’s her alone. Alone in a forest, she doesn’t know, roots thicker than the width of a pickup truck and trees taller than she’s ever known trees to be. When she looks up, she can’t see the tops of them. 

“Um.” A shaky hand comes to comb through her hair. Her heart is beating so fast it’s moving her shirt, hears it pounding in her ears, her throat. Panic sets in quickly.

“Okay. Okay.” Shakes her arms out, steels her jaw. “Cowboy!” Yang tries to call again. Her body shakes, something similar to fight or flight starts to kick in. Feels the tree before venturing further. It’s sticky, her hand is wet and dark when she pulls it back. Red as — 

To her immediate right, she hears a familiar howl of an impertinent cattle dog. Relief pricks at the corners of her eyes. 

She follows the sound of his barking, loud, angry. Doesn’t think about what’s got him so upset. Doesn’t think about how she’s never seen him like this before. She just wants out of these damn woods with wet, sticky, warm trees and roots and darkness that seem to span for miles and miles and miles. 

Yang breaks into a clearing, moonlit grass, and at the very center of it, a velcro colored dog barking into the emptiness. 

“Cowboy, come.” He doesn’t. “Cowboy, let’s go home.” So, here’s the thing. He doesn’t even _move._ His ears don’t twitch to the sound of her voice, doesn’t seem like he registers her presence. 

Yang risks a few steps closer, well aware that all of these trees look the same, that not ever leaving again is a very real possibility. But she’s not about to leave Cowboy out here by himself.

So she walks closer, moonlight highlighting her scraped and bloody knees. “Buddy, let’s go home.” Desperation flavors her voice, drips with it. 

Yang finally gets a good look at Cowboy; mouth pulled into a snarl, eyes blown wide, foaming at the mouth, ears pinned back and flat against his skill, hackles raised. She _also,_ in the same glance, gets a good look at just what Cowboy is snarling at, at what he must have chased all the way into the woods. 

A figure sits on their knees, naked, skin almost translucent. From the back, Yang sees prominent bones of the ribcage and spine. The majority of the skull is bald except for a few stubborn tufts of hair. Veins sickly colored and bulging, green.

“Oh my god.” Yang drops to her knees beside them. Reaches out. “Are you hurt? How can I help you?” 

It happens in slow motion, almost. 

The snapping of joints as they turn their head. First, the cheeks are revealed, hollow, darkened like a bruise. Then the mouth: wide open, an endless black, blood spills like a fountain. The empty sockets of where eyes must have been at some point. Blacker than anything Yang has ever known, blacker than she thinks should be possible. 

From its widening mouth comes a shriek, something of anger, something of pain, hungry. Begging for flesh and bone and blood and everything and anything it can devour. 

Every hair on Yang’s body stands at attention, adrenaline starts to course through her, palms cutting on stick and stone as she pushes herself back, eyes wild with the image of this _thing_ opening its mouth wider, wider, wider still. Blood soaks the frontside, impossibly long fingers — like the dead branches from the trees above — find purchase on the ground. 

It moves towards her faster than she expects, legs growing and snapping over its head as it crawls on all fours towards her, faster than her brain can even fathom, and before she can get a scream out, it’s on top of her. Mouth open, spilling blood down her neck as spiders find their way out of the empty eye sockets, startled by the sudden movement. 

It’s stronger than her and she can’t find any way to grip this thing to toss it off. Her hands come away slick with blood and slime and its long fingers, cold as river stones, close around her throat. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers Cowboy eating at this thing’s ankles, and also immediately registers a puppy yelp when he’s kicked far from her. 

Vision black around the edges, she kicks and kicks, hears a sickening crunch, and the low moan from above her. Kicks out again, her foot finds the mush of the stomach, pulls it away and viscera follows. 

She thinks, in the haze of her oxygen-deprived brain, she hears a gunshot. 

Another. Two. Three. 

One must hit its mark because the hands around Yang’s throat weaken to the point of withdrawal. The weight and scent of death climb off and away from her, scampers deeper into the woods. 

“Good God.” A new voice sounds near her, or far away? It’s so hard to tell as she gasps for air, claws at her skin until her field of vision returns back from the red and black haze that must come moments before death. 

She braces herself against the forest floor, noticed the blood-stained grass and dry heaves, spits blood out of her mouth until she’s quaking. 

Warm hands pull her hair back away from her face, and the scent of vanilla and flowers finds her nose, cutting through the acrid scent of rotting blood and weight of flesh. 

“Are you okay?” 

Yang yanks herself away, puts distance between her and this new person until she can focus more until she can get the scent of decay from her nostrils. “What the fuck.” Yang croaks. “What the _fucking_ fuck.” 

And looks up. 

A woman. Dark, waist-length hair and golden eyes. Lips pulled into a frown. Her hands are held up in a sign of surrender, and she doesn’t move from her position. 

They stare at each other for a long time, but it’s the woman to break the silence again. 

“What are you doing out in the woods?” 

“My dog—” Yang tries to take the bite out of her voice, tries to shake the sting of fear out. It doesn’t work, the words shake like a piano when they fall from her mouth, tears run in soft rivets down her face. Yang rips her head behind her, sees Cowboy hobbling to a standing position, licking at his forepaw. Her hand, cut up and covered in blood rubs red over her mouth when she tries to stifle a sob. She tastes rust. She tastes death. “ _What was that?_ ”

The woman stands, picks up an old rifle from the ground, and shrugs off her coat before offering it to Yang. She hadn’t even known she was shivering. 

It’s warm when she slips her arms through the sleeves, takes the grimace out of her teeth almost immediately. “Won’t you be cold?” Yang asks, out of habit, but finds her fingers tightening around the collar like a life-saver, despite herself. “Thank you.” 

A soft laugh, a sound of relief, the quick flicker of teeth behind lips. “I think you’ve been out here a lot longer than you think. I’ll be fine.” 

Yang stands and notices that the inside of her boots are damp, like the bottom half of her sweat pants. “Thank you.” She pauses. “I mean, you … I almost died. I could _feel_ it. Thank you for saving my life.” A sentence she was sure she’d never have to say, and it’s awkward as the phrase exits. “That doesn’t really sound like it means anything when I say it out loud.” 

Another laugh, louder this time, and the red, hot heat of embarrassment rushes to Yang’s cheeks, makes her lightheaded. “You don’t have to thank me.” Her cheeks dimple when she smiles, bright teeth against the backdrop of night. “Are you okay to get back home?” 

Yang pivots on her heels. Doesn’t recognize the clearing to be the same one she wandered into. Cowboy’s ears perk up at her movement, and with a little hobble he makes his way towards her, pants loud and rough. Tears prick at her eyes, she bends down to pick him up. Thirty pounds feel a lot heavier with exhaustion coating her bones. He licks at the corner of her jaw. 

“I wouldn’t know how to get back home even if God himself asked me,” Yang admits, shifting the weight in her arms. “I’ve never been in these woods before.” She feels the corners of her mouth draw down, eyebrows quick to follow. “I don’t even recognize these trees.” 

Molten amber eyes study her for a moment. When the woman’s brows draw tight, Yang can see a scar pucker right above her left brow. “Where’s home?” She asks finally, drops her curious gaze to the bundle of fur in Yang’s arms. 

“The Branwen Ranch.” 

Dark eyebrows shoot to the top of her hairline. The scar comes back. “That’s five miles away.” A pause. Then, “I’ll take you back.”

The math of being five miles deep into the woods doesn’t make sense to her. It had only been about ten minutes since Yang let Cowboy out of the house. Yang shifts the weight in her arms again, ignoring a little snort from Cowboy as she starts to follow this woman with dark, dark hair and a smile that looks a lot like the warning point of danger. 

… 

It takes two hours to get back to the Ranch. 

“Thank you,” Yang whispers to the woman beside her, her eyes shuttering closed. “I…” And well, what else is there to say? 

Teeth flash in the darkness, long eyelashes casting shadows over sharp cheekbones. “You need to rest, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Yang sways on her feet, bends down to set a sleeping dog on the ground. This movement wakes him, making a squeaking sound as he yawns. 

When she stands, the woman is gone. 

The backdoor is open, unlocked as she’d left it. Her boots come off with a _squelch_ and she’s quick to ditch her sweatpants, toes an icy white, nails blue. 

The clock on the wall reads 3:37 AM.


End file.
